


My Heat, My Fire

by yeterah



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, WE'RE NOT SLEEPING ON THIS SHIP, i guess?, yeah we got john/bonnie content in 2019 fym
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeterah/pseuds/yeterah
Summary: Bonnie was raised to have her mind set on maintaining the MacFarlane heirloom; the ranch. The ranch was her life, but John Marston comes round and changes everything.[on Hiatus]
Relationships: Bonnie MacFarlane/John Marston
Comments: 19
Kudos: 41





	1. Striking

The ride to Blackwater was dreary, the train ride was dreary, and the ride back home was dreary. 

  
  


Drew MacFarlane kept more and more of an overbearing eye on his ranch, sending ranch hands and especially his daughter out on errands that were sometimes unnecessary. Unfortunately, this was one of the unnecessary errands, but Bonnie, loving her father so; who was she to say “no”? 

  
  


Loyal ranch hand Amos was sent alongside her to Blackwater to stock up on supplies, her daddy claimed, “Just to be safe.” Blackwater wasn’t Bonnie’s kind of place; all those city-dwellers with their noses held up high and their beady little eyes looking down at her and Amos like they were animals at an exhibit. Bonnie felt watched, and scrutinized down to her core, so she was more than grateful when her and Amos took that train to the better, more homely land that she knew best. 

  
  


Amos took her home after the train ride, where she could bask in the New Austin air, and hear the dunes. She enjoys it, only for a moment, because by the end of her joy, she slumps in her shotgun seat, crossing her arms and burying her head in her chest. 

  
  


Bonnie would lift her head ask impatiently, “How much longer?”, and she would get the same response each time. _Just a few more miles, miss. Just a few more miles, miss. Just a few more miles._ Bonnie realized quickly that Amos was talking out of his ass, just trying to put her irritability at ease. By then, she quit asking. 

  
  


She opened her eyes to the endless desert, counting the endless cacti and the occasional fox. The scattered buildings, and the lonesome fort just at the end of the road Amos was going so slowly down. Slower than usual. 

  
  


Bonnie shot him a look. “Pick up the pace, Amos! Ain’t no reason this wagon should be goin’ this slow.”

  
  


“S—Sorry, miss,” Amos shook himself, but still seemed locked on something. “Just tryna’ figure out a way to go around Fort Mercer.” 

  
  


Bonnie shot up, eyes bucked. “Fort Mercer?”

  
  


Bill Williamson’s territory. Leader of a gang filled with a bunch of shifty no-good killers eager to put a bullet in a _babe’s_ head. 

  
  


Bonnie gets to moving. “Aw, hell—” 

  
  


“We gotta figure out a way ‘round ‘em, Miss,” Amos urges as the reins quiver in his hands. “If we pass ‘em, we’re on their hit list—”

  
  


“Yeah, Amos, I know that.” Bonnie scanned her surroundings, trying to find some path, rocky or otherwise, away from the main drag. But it was just their luck that no shortcut was present. 

  
  


“A’right—” she sighs, then reaches beneath her feet to resurface with a repeater in her hands. “Keep going; we’ll ride past ‘em molasses-like. You go fast and they’ll know for sure someone’s trespassing on their land.”

  
  


“You sure about that, miss?”

  
  


“I am, now go on.”

  
  


Amos, tentatively, got the horses going with the gentle flick of the reins. Meanwhile, Bonnie was loading her gun and her ranch hand was looking at her worriedly. “Shouldn’t I be doin’ that, miss?”

  
  


Bonnie cast him a glare. “Hush up and drive the wagon!” 

  
  


Amos nodded. “Right.” 

  
  


The atmosphere amid Fort Mercer was one to make Bonnie’s blood curl and her arm hair stand on her flesh. Her heart was pounding, but the white knuckled grip on her Carbine kept her grounded. Amos has got a yap faster than his mind, but at least he’s got a mind, and he was going to see to them getting away speedily if anything goes completely south. 

  
  


Now before the fort, her eyes were glued to the colossal building in a hybrid type of fear and awe, but Bonnie swallowed to relieve the tension. The wagon was going to pass the fort quietly, and nothing would go wrong. But there was this odd tranquility about the place, how deathly quiet it was, and for some reason, something in her says to look at the gate. 

  
  


What she sees makes a “my lord” fall from her lips.

  
  


A damn man was there, either rotting or festering in the afternoon sun. Either way.. 

  
  


“Amos, stop!” 

  
  


Her hand involuntarily swings to the ranch hand’s chest, causing him to slow the horses. When the horses have stopped, he turns his head toward her. “Miss, what are we doing?” he hisses. “This is gang territory! We can’t stop!” 

  
  


“There’s a man there,” she informs him, still staring at the still body on the ground. Beginning at his side, there lie a trail of deep red blood that inked the sand beneath him. Bonnie hadn’t seen anything like it. 

  
  


“We’ve got to help ‘im—” she turns to Amos and shoves her gun in his hands with a “guard me” before jumping out of the wagon. Amos is calling after her, begging her to return to the wagon, but on account of her determination and his whispering so the gang on the other side wouldn’t hear him, she’s made it to the man anyway.

  
  


“Miss—” she can hear Amos getting down from the wagon and chasing after her. “Miss— this is insane—”

  
  


“I’d advise you keep your mouth shut and do as I say or you’ll be left without a job,” she spits. “Now cover me.”

  
  


She bends down to hover over this man after, with the benefit of her ranch hand finally shutting up. She scans him for identification, but there is none; a man with gashes all down his cheek and nose is not something one would see everyday, at least where she came from. He looked different, stuck out like a sore thumb in a group. The fact that he was found on Fort Mercer wasn’t adding to the strangeness of him either.

  
  


But Bonnie shakes herself; she’ll worry about all that later. She takes his cold hand and presses a thumb on his wrist for a pulse. When she couldn’t find it there, she went for his jugular, and when she couldn’t detect none there, she pressed her ear against his chest as a last resort. 

  
  


And thank God for it; she found her head was faintly bobbing against this man’s broad chest. He was breathing, but very hollowly. 

  
  


She let go of the breath she was holding. “He’s alive, but only just,” she tells Amos. “Come on— let’s take ‘im home and call on the doctor from there.”

  
  


For once, the ranch hand doesn’t question her, and he sits the gun aside to help. Bonnie takes the man by his long arms while Amos takes his legs. Together, they quickly and quietly lay the man in the back of the wagon with the ranch supplies. Bonnie advises that Amos takes the reins and she remains with the man in the back; someone has to make sure he doesn’t die on the ride to the ranch. 

  
  


Amos sent the wagon galloping away from Fort Mercer to the MacFarlane ranch. Meanwhile, Bonnie’s shaking her head at how the day turned from a dreary one to a lively one at the expense of this poor, stupid, odd man catching her eagle-like eyes. She doesn’t know what her father will say, or what story this man will bring with him.

  
  


The wagon was zipping and zooming into and through the settlement, unstopping despite the way it disrupted the evening hour and attracted people out of their homes and away from their jobs. Still, Amos didn’t stop until Bonnie gave the word, and she gave it at the ranch hands’ flats, where she remembered an empty cabin had yet to be occupied.

  
  


“We’ll put ‘im in there!” Bonnie pointed to that exact cabin right before she and Amos toted this mystery man inside. It’s the first time he’s made a noise when he’s lain on the cot inside; a low, miserable type of noise. Bonnie wasn’t raised to be sympathetic, but even she wasn’t immune to feeling heavy hearted at his suffering. 

  
  


“Poor bastard,” she sighed, then turned to Amos. “Hurry on and fetch the doctor— now.” 

  
  


“Of course.” He hurried along, and left Bonnie alone with this enigma, wound still trickling scarlet blood. She should’ve helped, should’ve tried to give the doctor a headstart on account of them calling on him at such an ungodly hour. No, instead she sat there, hovering over him and just staring. Thinking. Wondering.

  
  


It was obvious that the man went to Fort Mercer to take a bite out of Bill Williamson— Bonnie reckoned it must’ve been for sport; she knows how this “man’s world” works. It’s a shame he’s let himself fall that low, let himself stoop down to man’s worse, because he’s striking. Mad to think it now with how he was, but it’s true. He’s striking. 

  
  


Bonnie wouldn’t touch him, but she would step closer, cant her head aside to inspect. With her personality and zeal, there were only a few men who actually liked her, and there were only a few she liked back. Those men were all half-pint imitations, though, but something about this man. This face, that jet-black hair, those shoulders, that height. 

  
  


Bonnie nodded to herself. _Striking._

  
  


“Miss! Here he is!” 

  
  


Bonnie stepped away from the man, didn’t want to be seen looking down at him like he was a meal. Meanwhile, in came the doctor, and Amos close behind. 

  
  


“Pardon me for askin’ for you so late, doctor,” Bonnie began. “But I’m afraid it’s urgent—” she cast a hand toward the incapacitated man she practically swooned over. “We found this man on our way back. We don’t know him and he don’t know us, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get him patched up. He’s in a bad fix.”

  
  


“You made the right call, Miss MacFarlane,” the doctor condemns as he takes a look at the man, at his wound especially. Setting an auburn briefcase down, he turned to Bonnie. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  
  


“Good. We’ll pay you whatever you need for your troubles,” she responds, and when the doctor does nothing but nod back, she takes it as a sign to take her leave; the doctor’s sure to be focused, and she would only get in the way now. She makes Amos stay, however, telling him to help in any way he can. 

  
  


Finally, she walked out to a moon almost as bright as a firefly, and a crowd of her ranch hands staring in curiosity. She ordered them away, told them “all’s fine, all’s fine”, and soon the streets were empty again. The walk back to the house would be lonesome (apart from the occasional night patroller) and quiet, that is until she passed the house’s gate. 

  
  


There stood her father on the porch, and when he saw her, he lit up from what was a worrisome stance. 

  
  


Bonnie scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been there since I left this mornin’!” she laughs. 

  
  


“I wasn’t here too long,” her father answered honestly. “But you can’t hold it against me for lookin’ out for my little girl.”

  
  


His little girl was flattered. “‘Course not, daddy.” 

  
  


“So what _were_ you doin’?” he began questioning. “I thought you’d be back by noon, but it’s half past nine.”

  
  


“I saw a man needed saving, so I saved ‘im,” Bonnie answered. “Doctor’s with him now.”

  
  


Her father’s eyebrows knitted together. “A _man?_ ”

  
  


“He ain’t gonna rough us up, pa,” Bonnie held a hand out. “He looked honest as the day is long.”

  
  


Mr. MacFarlane hummed. “And what about them doctor bills? He’s good for ‘em?”

  
  


“He will be, if there’s any justice in the world,” his daughter says. “But we’ll know soon enough.”

  
  


“And you got the supplies?”

  
  


“Yes sir, I did.”

  
  


There still stood an unease in her father’s demeanor, and Bonnie attacked it. “First and last passenger, I promise.”

  
  


“Yeah, yeah, I trust ya’,” her father nodded, then with a mighty yawn, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on then, let’s get us some shuteye. I reckon you’ve earned it, my girl.”

  
  


Bonnie chuckled. “I reckon I do too.” 

  
  


For two more days, the dark horse remained on the ranch. First day, the doctor finished the operation late into the night and informed Drew MacFarlane (who later told his daughter) that he would make a full recovery, apart from a few extra scars. The rest of that day was lost to the man’s convalescence; Bonnie was too preoccupied with her duties to check on him herself, but she would send many to check on him throughout the day. The second day was the same, only Bonnie shafted her responsibilities a little bit, on account of her thinking of him. Strange kind of thing; she hadn’t even known his name yet. 

  
  


Nonetheless, she made time for him the day after, at a quarter ‘till ten. She would have knocked but eagerness kept her from it, and she walked in to the man lain in bed, bandaged about his ribs and stretching his hands like they were new. 

  
  


Bonnie couldn’t help but smile as a wave of relief washed over her. “Well,” she said, leaning against the now ajar door. “You’re alive.”

  
  


“So it would seem,” the man calls back. Why it makes a butterfly flutter in her stomach at that voice of his she doesn’t know. Actually, she thinks she does. 

  
  


“How you feelin’?” she asks. 

  
  


The hands drop, as if they died. “I don’t know the polite word for it.”

  
  


“I do,” she says. “‘Stupid’ is the word we use ‘round here. What were you doin’?”

  
  


The man tries sitting up, groaning along the way. “I was.. well, doin’ somethin’ stupid.”

  
  


Bonnie hummed. “Well, you’ll be okay,” she says. “‘Least that’s what the doctor reckoned. He got the bullets out a couple o’days ago.”

  
  


The man took a deep exhale after sitting up— strenuous work it must be— before nodding. “Good.”

  
  


“Costed us fifteen dollars,” it slipped out when Bonnie looked out at the midday atmosphere. Made it sound like their lot only saved that man for something out of it; an eye for an eye, horrid for first impression. But when searching for offense in the man’s face, she found nothing but an apology. 

  
  


“I’m sorry madam,” he says. “You should’ve left me there to die.”

  
  


Bonnie frowned. “Is that why you went and tried pickin’ a fight with the worst bandit in the county? To die, Mister..” she trailed off, gesturing to the man to fill in the rest of her sentence with a name. 

  
  


Luckily— “Mr. Marston. John Marston.” 

  
  


He stands when he makes this introduction, rather gallantly, Bonnie daresays. She smiles and moves to lean against the nightstand by the door in an effort to look less guarded than she must have before. 

  
  


“Bonnie MacFarlane,” she says. “ _Miss_ Bonnie MacFarlane.” She could’ve followed that with a “maybe you could change that” with the way she emphasized “miss”, but alas; she’ll save it for when she actually _knows_ the feller.

  
  


“Well, you may be right, Miss MacFarlane,” says John. “I don’t know.”

  
  


John Marston. Nice name. Mysterious. She thinks it’s nice the way he says her name too. She still keeps the conversation going even as she’s quietly chuckling to herself. “So what _were_ you doin’?” 

  
  


He sighs before letting down that veil. “Tryin’ to give Mister Williamson a chance, for old times’ sake.”

  
  


_Old times’ sake?_ Bonnie’s eyes bucked. “You know Bill Williamson?” 

  
  


“Knew ‘im,” John corrected. “Long time ago.”

  
  


Bonnie looked for a lie in his face, a hint of jest, but none was there. The plot thickened, yet she was left more curious at its progression than shocked. 

  
  


“What was he like?” she had to ask. 

  
  


“Dumb,” he answered honestly as he struggled yet succeeded in standing up on his own. 

  
  


Meanwhile, Bonnie found a correlation. “Just like you.”

  
  


And she could’ve sworn she saw a hint of a bashful smile on his face. “Thank you, miss.” He goes to tip his hat at her, but he ends up tipping air. It was enough to make Bonnie chuckle while he asks, “Seen my hat?”

  
  


She looked around with him, and spotted it before him. “Just there,” she pointed to a table that was collecting dust in the corner of the cabin, but the hat was there, decorated with an eagle feather. 

  
  


While John walks to grab it and put it on, Bonnie asks him more questions; she can’t help herself. “What will you do now?” 

  
  


“Now,” he begins as he strolls back to her. “I’m gonna take my time goin’ after him the less kind way.” 

  
  


Bonnie hums. “Quite heroic,” she nods. “Sounds like somethin’ straight out of them penny dreadfuls my brother used to read.”

  
  


She gets yet another smile out of him, and she gives one back. “Well, I hate to cut this conversation short, but I’ve got a ranch to run,” she admits honestly. “Of course, if you feel better, why not take a ride with me later and help me patrol the perimeter.” Then, she thinks of what her father said. “You could earn some of that money needed for your doctor bill— I can only assume you ain’t paid it yet.”

  
  


“No, miss, I hadn’t. That’d help a lot,” he nodded. “And thank you, for saving my life I mean.”

  
  


Bonnie dips her head to smirk. “Next time, Mr. Marston, I’d advise you try not to lose it quite so earnestly.” 

  
  


It’s then that she takes her leave, but not before hearing him say behind her, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  
  


She goes down the cabin’s stairs with pep and a smile that cause her cheeks to glow in the midday sun. 

  
  
  


_Striking._


	2. All Good Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOW I'M REALLY DO THIS ;;;;W;;;;  
> thank you for all your encouraging words !! it means a lot, & i'm so glad there's still people out there that like this ship as much as i do !!!! 💖💖
> 
> ok i'll shh. please enjoy ;w; !

The afternoon sun was beginning to become overbearing during the honest day, wilting flowers and melting a man’s skin off in its path. Bonnie felt like a puddle; ranching unsheathed energy from her like she was too old for it, even with her twenty-seven years of age. Deciding a break was best, she walked back to the house with the occasional “how you holdin’” at the passersby before ending her sally at the veranda of her house, sitting down on a rocking chair and catching her breath. 

  
  


At one point, she rested her head against the back of that warming chair, eyes closed as she basked in what small breezes God gave her within the shade. She would wonder what she’d look like to a bystander; she’s lazily spread out on this dingy yet withstanding chair, hair unkempt, and body glistening with sweat almost exactly like a pond under the sunset. Still, the wind and the peace would keep her grounded, and kept her from caring all that much about her looks. 

  
  


“Miss MacFarlane.”

  
  


Suddenly she’s jumped up like a cat at the voice she hears behind her eyelids. “Ah! Mister Marston—!” It’s obvious and discreet as she desperately tries to straighten herself up before the apple of her eye. Clearing her throat, she speaks to John. “Back in the land of the livin’, I see!” 

  
  


“Figured it’s ‘bout time that doctor gets his $15.” 

  
  


He spoke as if he was unfazed by Bonnie’s appearance; a comfort to know, yet a little confusing. “Right,” she says, remembering that she did in fact give him that tip. “Well, no time to waste. Let’s get you back in the saddle.” She gives her bangs one last swipe before stepping down the veranda’s stairs to meet John. “Meanwhile, I can give you a tour of the ranch,” she smiles. “I reckon you should get to know the place since you’ll be here a while while you’re trying to heal.”

  
  


Mentioning it made John wince a bit, and it sent a small sting in Bonnie’s heart knowing she was to blame for that, but he chuffed along, so she did too. 

  
  


Mounting their horses that weren’t too far, they were on the main drag in no time, in which Bonnie starts her tour with the first building they reared upon. “There’s the Foreman’s office,” she pointed. “Where we lock up good-for-nothin’ outlaws such as, well, yourself, I suppose.”

  
  


She giggles, and he hums. “I’m happy enough with my current quarters, Miss MacFarlane.” 

  
  


Bonnie smiled at his remark, all the while continuing as their horses trotted down the main road. “To your right is the general store,” she points next at an inviting little hut opposite the Foreman office. “You won’t find Parisian high fashion there, but it’s good for the essentials.” 

  
  


John’s eyebrows hitched with piqued interest. “Convenient,” he remarked. “Don’t think I’ve seen a ranch with its own store before.”

  
  


“Must be your first time seein’ a  _ real  _ one,” Bonnie kept on smiling, and kept on directing. “There goes the corral, for the horses.” While John is nodding at it, she is casting him a look. “I reckon you’ve stolen more horses than you’ve broken.”

  
  


Then it was John’s turn to cast her a look. “Now where you’d get such an idea?”

  
  


Bonnie chuckled. “You look the part; first impressions are hard to erase.” Nearing the end of the main drag, they rounded the corral into an undiscovered street, where two more structures lain. “That’s the train station,” she gestures toward it, and commented, “Things sure have changed since the line got done, bringing in all sorts of new folk, like yourself.”

  
  


John curled a hard-angled brow. “Is that such a bad thing?” 

  
  


Bonnie understood why he asked, because him being here, if one thought about it,  _ was  _ a good thing; he was doing the police and the government a service trying to be rid of the degenerate scum in the county. Still, she shrugged; that brought its own problems. “I guess change is only good when it improves things.” 

  
  


Meanwhile, they were spurring their horses into more meaningful trots as the next structure waiting to be shown was a little far from the rest of town. “Here’s the barn,” she presents, gleaming with pride. It was a grand barn, honest and true as it glowed white in the sun. “Daddy built it when I was just a little girl.” They rode slower as they passed it, and Bonnie found it flattering that John was alongside her in her gawking. 

  
  


And the tour finally ended when they reached where they began. “And here we are! Back at the house,” Bonnie announced. “Let’s hitch our horses up ahead.” This they did, at a smaller barn only a few feet away from their destination. 

  
  


Bonnie dismounted with that smile that refused to go away, however it subsided when she could see John’s struggle to catch his breath, and how he achingly got down his own horse; he’s been overworked. With that observation, she quickly decided, “How about we stop before we go out on patrol?” 

  
  


John looks up at her after a hard exhale and a hand over his wound. “You’ll get no objections from me, Miss MacFarlane.” 

  
  


She inwardly admired how even in his plight, there was still that charm. “How ‘bout a cold drink to settle you in?” She started her walk to the house as she offered, and John followed. 

  
  


“Thank you, ma’am,” he nods. “Gettin’ shot then riding a horse seems to take it out of you.”

  
  


“I gathered that,” she giggled. “Come inside then; I can show you ‘round the house and then you can sit for a while.” 

  
  


John seemed flattered at Bonnie’s offering convalescence, and he did not fail to show gratitude. “Thank you,” he smiled. 

  
  


Bonnie nodded to accept his thanks. Meanwhile, she entered the house. John followed with a slight edge of curiosity in his demeanor that only swelled once he actually entered her house. He was met with emerald walls, a sizeable foyer with magnificent acoustics, and simple yet effective furniture. 

  
  


“Wonderful home you have here,” John comments, and Bonnie’s smiling. It’s all she ever seemed to do in his company. 

  
  


“Well, it’s not a grand ol’ thing, but it does okay for us,” she states modestly, meanwhile circling the foyer. “To your left is our sitting area, behind me is the dining room and the kitchens, and upstairs are our rooms. I reckon you’ll be needin’ the guest bedroom so you can rest— unless you wanna sleep in that chair behind you.”

  
  


John turned his head to look at said chair, and thought for a moment. Bonnie was hoping he would rest in a  _ real  _ bed— God knows he might not have in a long time with his way of life, but, “Sure, I’ll manage here. Thank you, miss.”

  
  


“Right. Well—” Bonnie turned. “Follow me to the dining room; I’ll fetch ya’ a cold drink, somethin’ to wet your whistle.”

  
  


It must’ve been John’s umpteeth time saying “thank you” to her. Definitely not one for letting good deeds go unnoticed; uncommon practice for an outlaw. Meanwhile, Bonnie took their moment together to talk more about her family and what the ranch has seen, her listener attentive as ever. But she would relieve him of her nattering two hours into their conversation; that plush burgundy chair was where he left it, and he slept so soundly in it, like a stray dog would have. Bonnie chuckled at the sight. 

  
  


By nightfall, the time for patrolling had began. It was up to Amos and the rest of the boys to do the job, but Bonnie felt curious tonight, and readied a gun for her expedition. She knew she needed an extra gun however, and the outlaw in her foyer will fill that job perfectly.

  
  


He was still sleeping, but Bonnie would wake him up with a simple call of his name. “Mr. Marston.”

  
  


John hopped up after he twitched awake. “Miss MacFarlane,” he echoed. 

  
  


“Remember me tellin’ you about the trouble we've been havin’ with rustlers and other undesirables?”

  
  


“I do.”

  
  


At that, Bonnie handed him the second repeater she had in her hands. “Will you help me keep watch on the property line this evenin’?” she asks. “I’m curious to know who exactly is trespassing on our land.”

  
  


“Sure,” John nodded, bucking his eyes at the weapon he was handed. He twirled the gun about in his hands, held it up to the light to let it glisten, all the while smirking at its finish as if it was a gift for Christmas. “This is a fine weapon,” he says.

  
  


Bonnie smiled too, more so at John than at the weapon. “Come; let’s head out,” she says, on her way out the door. “The country is really beautiful at around this time.”

  
  


John followed her out the door, and into the night they went, where their horses awaited them across the way. They mounted up, and were back on the road, now with a different purpose and with weaponry. As they trotted through the ranch, they were so focused on keeping an eagle’s eye on the environment that conversation never commenced. 

  
  


Bonnie was the first to notice this, and she acted accordingly after the clear of her throat. “I appreciate you taggin’ along, Mr. Marston,” she says. “I feel a lot happier’s someone with me.” 

  
  


She’s sure of what she meant by that. Even if she could handle herself any day, it was nice to have that “knight in shining armor” protecting you, come with dashing looks and very attractive wit. A man that radiated chivalry. 

  
  


But of course, John didn’t really catch that. “I feel a lot happier now I got a rifle.” She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. 

  
  


Nevertheless, she went on. “Well, I reckon with your trigger itch and my feminine intuition, we should make quite a team.” 

  
  


The patrol was successful; the only casualties would be the crops, eaten by wily little rabbits, and a few poor chickens losing their lives to some hungry foxes. An underlying goal Bonnie had was putting a name on the rustlers who were scooping up the cattle, but they didn’t appear tonight; a blessing in disguise. 

  
  


The moon was reaching its peak in the night sky and the ranch was getting more and more peaceful by the minute, so Bonnie offered to ride John back to his shack before heading home. 

  
  


“You do good with a rifle,” Bonnie comments as they went on. Clearing the pests off the ranch was clockwork for John; they went down like dominoes. She wasn’t too surprised, but mighty impressed. 

  
  


“It’s just somethin’ I’ve had some experience in,” John shrugged in reply.

  
  


Bonnie chuckled ruefully. “Maybe Bill Williamson did get lucky after all.”

  
  


“Luck ain’t really come into it, miss.”

  
  


“You’re a useful man to have ‘round the ranch, that’s for sure,” Bonnie observed. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten what brought you here. We’ll do whatever we can to help you.”

  
  


“I sure appreciate that, Miss MacFarlane,” John nodded. 

  
  


They reached the shack right when John was finished expressing his thanks. While Bonnie reared her horse behind him, he hitched his mount and slid carefully off his saddle. 

  
  


“Thank you for your help tonight, Mr. Marston,” now it was Bonnie’s turn to give thanks; she feels she seldom does. “Sure makes me glad I saved your life. Get you some rest and I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

  
  


John tipped his hat to her on the steps of his shack. “Will do, Miss MacFarlane.” With that, he turned his back to her. Bonnie watched him shut the door. She even watched the oil lamp in his window be stripped of its light. 

  
  


She sighed before clucking her mare back to the house. It was a fun night out with John. How dreary that all good things must come to an end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme get some feedback yo. i'm good for it ✨


	3. Gold to Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE WAIT BUT I HOPE THIS 5000+ WORD CHAPTER MAKES UP FOR IT FKGLDFKGH PLEASE ENJOY 💖💕💖💕💖💕

Bonnie meant to brush her hair while it was early enough for the birds to sing outside her window. She wonders why instead of doing that she is staring at herself, gauging every crinkle in her face, every beauty mark, and every strand of golden hair lain haphazardly down her shoulders.

  
  


However, she eventually ties it up to her rattling realization that she was just as prone as the next person to fall for the strangest person, in spite of her common sense and standards. John Marston was a trigger-happy bounty hunter, sent to disgrace himself doing the government’s work. But he has charm and grace and an air to him that makes Bonnie swoon each time she is with him. 

  
  


They’ve seen each other sparingly within the past few weeks; one time when he chauffeured her to Armadillo, and another when they raced through Henningan’s Stead. She was sensible when with him, but something like an illness came over her each time she returned to her bedside. Staring at ceilings and twisting in her bed all because of that personality, and that voice, and that laugh.

  
  


The man cost her sleep, cost her peace, and a pinch of sanity. By God, she will get something out of this.

  
  


Determined, she puts her hair up in her typical do and gets dressed. Her father hasn’t started his day yet; his standing at the drawing room window admiring the view and sipping on coffee proved that. 

  
  


“I’m headin’ out,” Bonnie informs him as she’s walking to the door. Drew snaps out of his people-watching at her voice.

  
  


“Workin’ already?” he asks. “Ya’ got another hour to rest, you know. Here—” He moves toward the kettle, stinking the whole house of coffee beans. “Come get ya’ some coffee.”

  
  


“No, thank you, daddy,” Bonnie swipes him off, about to open the door until a thought stopped her. ‘’Do you suppose Leigh Johnson is up ‘round this time?”

  
  


“Well, he’s a Marshal, Bonnie,” Drew answers. “I reckon he’s up from dawn ‘til the cows come home. Why?”

  
  


Bonnie shrugs. “No particular reason.” She loves and trusts her father, but she won’t tell what she’s up to, for it has something to do with her falling for a slow bounty hunter. With that, she turned the doorknob. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  
  


She’s off the steps of the house and on her horse quick. Revolver holstered, she spurs her horse to Armadillo; with the gang parading the county as if they owned it, she had to keep it on her. Even so, she wasn’t as leary as she should’ve been with the goal set in her mind; she has a feeling that Marshal Johnson was the only one besides her that knows John aside from “good morning” and “goodnight”, so she’s gonna find out what he does know. Any and every kind of information could help.

  
  


Armadillo was quiet except for the Sheriff’s office, who also had the only light in the town at this hour. She hitches her horse there, and walks up to his door nervous— it’s not every day you ask someone for personal information on a bounty hunter without a reason— but determined. 

  
  


She knocks, and at the Marshal’s invitation, she enters. 

  
  


He was at his desk, probably fiddling with papers, when he stood at her presence. “Good mornin’, Miss Macfarlane,” he tips his hat. “I didn’t know you were up and about at this hour. How can I help you?”

  
  


“Good mornin’,” Bonnie greets back, but is unsure how to answer his last statement. Her hands are playing with each other as she’s grounded at the door frame. “I’m sure you’ve heard tell of the heroic city slicker gallivanting ‘round here.”

  
  


Johnson chuckles. “Yeah, I heard of him. I’ve been workin’ with him; he’s been helping me with them rustlers, the Bollard bunch. Strange and phlegmatic sort of fella, but he’s earnin’ his keep. Been doing the county a great service.”

  
  


While he returns to his seat, she takes the one opposite of him. “He’s been stayin’ on the ranch, you know, healin’ from a little incident he had weeks ago.”

  
  


“Turnin’ up at Fort Mercer ain’t no incident,” Leigh says, lips tight in a frown. Bonnie should’ve kknown he’d heard about that.

  
  


“No, but—” she pauses, as her beating around the bush isn’t helping much. “I guess I best come clean. John— Mr. Marston— is an elusive bastard and I want to know a little more about him, if you can help.”

  
  


Bonnie swallows a little at the way the Marshal curls his brow, on her using his first name and on asking such a question perhaps, but he answers her nonetheless. “Well, Miss Macfarlane, I don’t really know him apart from the business. He’s a hard worker, if that’s what you’re after.”

  
  


“No I meant..” then she sighs, more so to relieve the tension settling in her than from impatience. “I mean more intimate things, if you know what I mean.”

  
  


But by the way the Marshal is looking at her like she’s lost something, it seems he still hasn’t. “As I said,” he begins. “I only know that he’s a hard worker. Nothin’ _ intimate,  _ as you put it.”

  
  


Bonnie sighs again, head falling toward her lap. What would a law officer know about John that isn’t that, unless it was for his own gain? Better question is, why would  _ she  _ think that?

  
  


But Leigh clears his throat. “I guess if I had to do some thinking, I remember one of my deputies heard he was thinkin’ about gettin’ some property here.”

  
  


It must have been her disappointment that got him to speak, or maybe God’s goodness. She doesn’t know, but she lights up like the sun when she hears those words. “You don’t say?”

  
  


“That’s the talk in town, I suppose,” Leigh shrugs. “‘Course I don’t go huntin’ for this information; I’m not nosey, but God knows those boys are.”

  
  


Bonnie would’ve joined him in his laughter if not for the realizations dawning on her. That John was always going somewhere, but he would always come home, this time nearer her and not a long ride away in Great Plains. 

  
  


That was leverage. At something more, something that could end in happiness and not heartbreak.  _ Her and John can have a chance.. _

  
  


“Miss Macfarlane?”

  
  


_..They just need to salvage it.  _

  
  


Bonnie shook herself out of her thoughts, as someone on the other side of her was getting worried. She hopped from her chair— the Marshal following— and held out a hand for him to shake.

  
  


“Thank you for enlightenin’ me, Marshal,” she smiles as her hand is accepted. “I—I’ve got work to do back at the ranch, but you cannot konw how much I appreciate your telling me that, in every sense of the word.”

  
  


The Marshal didn’t even get the chance to say “thank you” before she was out the door, on her horse, and riding back to the ranch. She grinned the whole way in spite of her best efforts not to, if only to stop herself from looking silly. But how could she with the jolly news she’s been given?

  
  


The rest of the day was lost to the labors on the ranch until the sun and the moon were in the midst of switching places. Everyone, ranch hands and her father alike, were trying desperately to figure out what Bonnie kept looking rosy for, but she seldom admitted why. She wanted to keep her happiness to herself, keep it untainted by her father’s disapproval or by the gossip to come.

  
  


Now she rests in a chair on the house’s porch, the long day on its way to a close. She rocks happily in the golden hour’s air, thinking happy things. However, when she hears spurs rattle her way behind closed eyelids, she hops up as she knows it to be John.

  
  


“Mr. Marston!” she greets him jovially, approaching the veranda’s railing and leaning over it as if to reach and touch John. She knows this gives her away a bit, but she couldn’t help herself. “I’ve been hearin’ about your plans.”

  
  


“Have you, Miss Macfarlane?” John bites, though he seems confused, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. She hopes that was modesty or him being coy.

  
  


“Yes, from Leigh Johnson,” she confirms. “To settle here and build a life for yourself.”

  
  


John’s angled brows furrow a little. “I’m afraid those ain’t my plans. You see I already have a life. Well, I had one and I’m tryin’ to reclaim it.” There’s a moment of silence, a pondering, before he starts again. “Or you could say I had two lives and I’m tryin’ to end one of ‘em so that the other may survive.”

  
  


Now Bonnie’s brows knit together, in frustration rather than ponderance. “You do so love to talk in riddles, Mr. Marston,” her eyes roll. “I wonder if you do that as a substitute for having anythin’ interesting to say.”

  
  


John chuckles, that stupid chuckle. “Probably, Miss Macfarlane.”

  
  


Impatience rears its ugly head. She groans as her hands fly up in exasperation. “Call me Bonnie, you fool,” she sighs, slumping back into the chair she was once rocking happily in. “Call me Bonnie.”

  
  


It’s either he’s plum stupid or what Leigh told her genuinely wasn’t true. Jsut that alone made a thousand pounds of weight fall on her heart. But if that wasn’t enough..

  
  


“Miss Macfarlane, I’m married.”

  
  


She looks up, unable to hide the way her face oozed devastation or how her shoulders drooped with disappointed hope. But John must not have seen the way his news rattled her, or he wouldn’t have continued. 

  
  


“I have a son. I had a daughter, but she died. Years before that, I rode in a gang. We was robbin’ trains, banks, holdin’ folk ransom, even killing folk we didn’t like. But Bill Williamson was in that gang, and I’ve been sent down here to capture him, otherwise great harm will befall my family.”

  
  


Now it’s unfathomable, how shock could join her grief. Meanwhile, John turned away from her to lean on the railing, just as she did when she was so full of hope. “Now I don’t reckon any of this is interesting to ya’, but I hope it explains why I wasn’t so eager to talk about it.”

  
  


Her emotions are all over the place, in a way that overwhelms, but somehow she finds it in her to be empathetic. “N—No, I do understand,” she moves slowly to join him. “I had no idea.”

  
  


Of his being  _ married, _ but most importantly, of his struggle he so brilliantly hid for her. “You poor man.”

  
  


“Even in this new country, memories don’t really fade,” John went on. “My daddy was an illiterate Scot, born on the boat into New York, you know. He never saw his homeland, but to hear him talk about it, you’d imagine he only ever ate haggis and wore a kilt. Then he hated the English for what they’d done to his great-grandparents he’d never met.” Then he contemplates, looking off into the orange horizon. “People don’t forget. Nothing gets forgiven.”

  
  


“I agree,” Bonnie chimes in. “Especially when it comes to money. Even now, after all his labors, my daddy’s debts are still terrible. I worry all the time about us losin’ the ranch; it would kill him.”

  
  


“My daddy died when I was eight,” John says. “His eyes were.. Well, let’s just say he was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicago. My mama died during childbirth. She was a prostitute and he was her.. pimp or procurer— I don’t know. ‘Til I was sent off to an orphanage, ran away, and fell in with a gang.”

  
  


Bonnie shook herself. “My word,” she sighs. “What a difficult life you’ve lived.” His past was questionable, but now she knew why; a good man in a bad situation. 

  
  


“The leader of the gang taught me to read,” John shrugged. “Taught me to see all that was good in the world. He was a great man in a way.”

  
  


Bonnie frowned. “But you killed people?”

  
  


“Sure, and I’ve suffered for it. In my soul and in my mind,” he admits, still looking sorrowfully at the horizon. “I’m an uneducated killer sent to do what I’m good for, which is to kill a man in cold blood so that another man may do his part to cut crime in an area and a rich man can be elected governor on the back of these promises.”

  
  


Silence found its way between them. Bonnie wanted to follow his gaze at the setting sun, but she wouldn’t let go of her gaze at John. “You’d leave this all behind you though, wouldn’t you? If you had a choice?”

  
  


“Of course I would,” John answers with sincerity. “But it’s either this or a grave fate for my wife and child.”

  
  


Bonnie’s frown now matches John’s, all desolate and sorry. “I empathize with you, Mr. Marston. I truly do.”

  
  


There was a split second in which they met eyes, blue and brown possibly finding comfort in one another, until it was all lifted by John’s chuckle. “I’m sorry, Miss Macfarlane; I came here ‘cause I owe you labors as you know, but it seems I’ve said too much.”

  
  


“You’re fine,” Bonnie patted his forearm, giving him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You know I—I didn’t know you had a wife and child. Then again, I don’t think I ever asked.” 

  
  


Her hands start to toy with eachother again, to mask her melancholy. “They’re— They’re lucky. To have a man like you.” She hates yet understands why that was such a hard sentence to get out. 

  
  


“Well, I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

  
  


She hates even more that John says it that way, all low and intimate, as if those words were formulated just for her. 

  
  


She’s given a smile after that, and she reacts differently this time. Usually her heart flutters and the gravity around her wanes, but now knowing his background, knowing he has a life worthier than whatever this was, it made her heart heavy and the air around her even heavier. 

  
  


Still, after a low “um”, she puts on a dignified face. “Well, since you mentioned work needs done on the ranch, I do need an extra hand takin’ the herd out to pasture.”

  
  


“Whatever needs doin’, I’ll do it,” John says, and the pep in him returns. “Point me in the right direction.”

  
  


Bonnie can’t help but play along, so she does point, and he goes there, sauntering and trying to milk a laugh out of her. She would have laughed, she was drying her wet eyes a few paces behind. It was what she preferred, because her tears and her frown were not something she wanted John to see.

  
  


They mounted up and they herded cattle, alongside Amos of course. It was a quick and simple job, in which Bonnie couldn’t stop glossing her eyes over John or riding her mount rather close to his. She still had feelings for this married man— this stoic, charming, handsome, married man— and her pain at this hurt worse than any bullet in the head. 

  
  


She needed some time to recover. She gave John a simple excuse for her abrupt leaving, saying there was more things needed done back at the ranch. With that, she took her leave, intending to go back to the house, but somehow she kept riding and never looked back. 

  
  


It got her someplace past Pike’s Basin, on a plateau closer to the sun than to people. The sky now turned this collage of blue and orange, and the wind gusted more there, combing through her hair and almost exfoliating her skin. Cleansing her of misery, if only for a moment. One thing was certain; it was the perfect ailment for heartbreak. 

  
  


She left there with the sun left her. Upon revival back at the house, she met her father in the foyer; he was just coming out of the drawing room, possibly from a finished cup of coffee.

  
  


“Ah,” he greets her after a gloss over his pocket watch. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

  
  


“Oh, good,” Bonnie nods, a little tiredly. “I was feelin’ hungry.” She knows that was her grief talking. 

  
  


Drew, of course, took advantage of his full plate. Took advantage of his time with his daughter too, as he talked her ear off of politics and of the ranch and of anything else an old man could think of. It was the only night in which Bonnie wasn’t her daddy’s little girl; she was quiet, still, and took to poking at her food rather than eating it. Thoughts of John, and of his superior wife, and of his superior life did that. 

  
  


Drew suddenly stopped talking as he gauged her. “Bonnie, you’re awful quiet this evenin’,” he says with a mouth half full. “What you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

  
  


“Nothin’. Just tired. Hard day today.” She thought putting on would stop the tears wanting to swell her eyes, or her lip wanting to quake, but when it didn’t and her father wouldn’t stop talking, she dismissed herself quickly. “Would you excuse me? My head’s a-throbbin’’.”

  
  


“Oh,” Drew stood when she did. “Can I get ya’ anything?”

  
  


“No—” Bonnie answered immediately, hastly making her way out of the dining room. “I’ll be fine if I could just put my feet up.”

Once past the foyer, her climbing the stairs was quick, and her marching up the stairs was even quicker; she wanted to catch her tears before they disgraced her. But when she finally made it to her orange room, and its door separated her from the rest of the world, it all came crashing down after she lay a firm hand over her trembling lips. 

  
  


She had come to love John. She let herself think about him from the moment she woke up until the moment she fell asleep, and every moment in between. Let herself laugh heartily at his jokes, let her heart sigh happily at each smile and each moment spent with him, and this is where she ended up, trying desperately to hide the sound of her cries, trying not to collapse from the exhaustion an intense sob brought. 

  
  


John Marston taught her what it meant to be happy. Now she knows she won’t ever be.

  
  


An uncontrollable whimper escaped her, too loud to try and play off, and it was in that moment that she gave up trying to hide her sobs. She slumped on her bed and let the sadness rattle through her, which she thought would never cease.

  
  


Her father came in soon. She knew he would, probably from his motherly intuition and her volume, and when he saw what a sight Bonnie was in, the sympathy hit him hard. 

  
  


“Oh, Bonnie.” He was at her side at once, bent by the knee and holding her hand. “What’s this?”

  
  


“I’m fine, daddy, just—” her voice was extremely wobbly, very different from its usual steadiness. “I’m bein’ silly.”

  
  


Drew gave his daughter the handkerchief in his coat pocket, to which she tried her best to catch her tears with. Meanwhile, with a soft and warming face, he connected dots. “This has somethin’ to do with that government boy, don’t it?”

  
  


Bonnie looked up, expression confirming his presumption. Her father bowed his head at that, looking disappointed but not surprised. She supposes the former alone would be worse. 

  
  


Bonnie was clearing her still watering eyes while she tried to fight against lungs short of breath. “I know he ain’t the ideal son-in-law you want,” she croaks. “You should go ‘head and send me off to the East now, let me come back with a worthier man.”

  
  


Her father chuckled. “Reckon you’re a little too old to be sent off anywhere, ain’t ya’?”

  
  


He managed to get a giggle out of Bonnie, if only for a moment. She started getting emotional again at her next thought. “I know you’re disappointed in me,” she wobbled. “Because believe me, daddy, I ain’t want this either, but I’m a.. Goddamn fool.”

  
  


“Love makes fools of us all, my girl,” he smiled sweetly, like he used to do when that same Bonnie was little and had hurt herself toying around. It’s almost the same way now. “I used to cry like this over girls too, you know.”

  
  


Bonnie was wiping snot away from under her nose when she stopped to register that. “You serious?”

  
  


“Honest to goodness,” her father nodded. “Them womenfolk was so beautiful and I was just a lame ol’ country boy, knew nothin’ outside of cattle and chicken. I couldn’t have these women. ‘Course that all changed when I met your mother, but before her? Cried so many tears I could cure a drought.”

  
  


Bonnie smiled again, sniffling and wiping away. “That’s ‘cause you’re frailer than you look.”

  
  


“‘Least you know where you get it from,” her father giggled, and of course his daughter giggled too. “Now tell me: why you so hung up on this drifter? What’s he got goin’?”

  
  


“Well, he’s married, for one—” She stopped herself because air was leaving her again in the wake of yet another breakdown. 

  
  


Drew tries his best to stop it, squeezing her hand— his way of letting her know he was still there for her. “Calm down, darlin’. Just tell me what I need to know.”

  
  


Bonnie sighs. “Don’t suppose there’s anything to know except that,” she croaks. “He’s a.. good man, one of the best I’ve known. One of the few that’s shown me a good time, you know? And after that mad fella, I guess I got used to bad men and went and found me a good one and got to hoping and..” she realized she was close to going off in a tangent, so she puts it simply. “I—I just liked him.”

  
  


By “mad fella”, she meant a suitor she had years back that still makes her skin crawl to this very day. The man that would do a little too much for her, so much that Drew had to send him away at the other end of a shotgun. He himself scoffed thinking about it. “I don’t blame ya’,” he says. “That government boy is an improvement from what was. He’s been doin’ the ranch more good than harm, and saving the county from disgrace, as the townsfolk put it.”

  
  


“Carryin’ a whole heap o’trouble with him,” Bonnie adds, shaking herself and scoffing. “I—I don’t know why I fell for.. Walking baggage. I’ve gone crazy under the sun.”

  
  


Bonnie knew that to be a fact. Her father, however, waved her off. “Let me meet him first, then I’ll decide how crazy you gone.”

  
  


The second time he’s left Bonnie surprised. “You want to meet him?” she echoes. “A dumb city-slicker turned outlaw and you want to meet him?”

  
  


“Well,” Drew shrugs. “I reckon he ain’t all that bad if you care about him this much.”

  
  


To the point where she wept at him, dreamt of him, and all other foolish things. A point had been made, and Bonnie was left in silence. Meanwhile, her father went on. “When you see him next, bring him to me. You usually know where I am.”

  
  


Bonnie tried through her father’s eyes to see if he was having her on. She was convinced he would be disappointed in her, but she sometimes forgets how oddly understanding her father was, and at that, she got emotional again. “You do surprise me,” she croaked. Drew was the only person in the world that could change her tears of grief into tears of joy. 

  
  


“You should have more faith,” he jabbed, then they shared laughter and a tender hug. Weight was lifted off of Bonnie’s shoulders, and it’s never felt better. But, in the back of her mind, she wonders how that meeting will go. 

  
  


The next day, she finds out in the afternoon, when her and her father were taking a moment away from the hustle and bustle that came with ranch life. Drew was in the drawing room and Bonnie was in the foyer walking laps with a book in her hand— a Penny Dreadful one of her late brothers loved— when a knock rattled the door. 

  
  


Bonnie knew it was John. She couldn’t remember a time in which she straightened up so fast, throwing her book to the side. Still straightening up for a married man. 

  
  


Clearing her throat, she called out. “Come in!”

  
  


And so John did, peeking in rather, until he was welcomed with a warm smile. “Hello, Mr. Marston!” Bonnie greeted him. “How are you doin’ today?”

  
  


“Fine, thank you. How are you?” Hearing his voice once brought pleasure, now it comes with a sting. 

  
  


“I’m well,” she kept up her smile, and gestured to the bull of a man observing them from the drawing room. “Have you met my father?”

  
  


She noted how, out of respect, he immediately took off his hat at the sight of him. Honorable bastard. She forged on, guiding him to the drawing room with a small hand on his broad back, all the while making introductions. “John Marston, this is my father, Drew MacFarlane.”

  
  


John rounded the table in the middle of the drawing room to meet Drew in a hearty handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marston,” the older man smiled not too loosely, but not too unwelcomingly either. With the end of their greeting came Drew’s hand gesturing toward the couch, asking John to have a seat. 

  
  


While the conversation in the room was stirring, Bonnie was serving coffee, and listening. 

  
  


“So,” her father begins, returning to his seat. “I hear you’re on a secret mission to remove some undesirables from the county; that’s the scoop ‘round here.”

  
  


“Somethin’ like that,” John says with a hint of a chuckle. “I’m grateful for the hospitality, sir.” Right when he does thank them for their hospitality, Bonnie gives him his coffee. She is the last to get her cup, after her father.

  
  


Drew accepts John’s thanks with a nod, and continues. “You know we’ve lived here for thirty years now. Came in from the East. For a decade we fought the Indians— tough men. Then we had outlaws, and drought, terrible winters, and cholera. I buried more of my children than I raised.”

  
  


John’s expression went worrisome. “Sorry to hear that, sir.”

  
  


“I’ve seen strong men wither and die under that unforgivin’ sun. Whole herds o’cattle just take sick and die,” Drew says. “But I’ve never once doubted my life here.”

  
  


John nodded in what looked to be an admirable fashion. “No sir.”

  
  


Then he and Bonnie watch Drew rise from his chair, like an orator about to begin an oration. “When I hear about this so-called “Federal Government” sendin’ out agents to covertly murder and control people, I start to worry,” he says. “Granted, Williamson is a menace, and folk like him are the plague, but ain’t a government agent a worse menace? In all that it symbolizes, I mean?”

  
  


Bonnie glances at John, hoping her father’s probing isn’t affecting him too harshly. Maybe John knew that the purpose of this conversation was to test his character in some way, so he answered appropriately. “You may be right, sir.”

  
  


Drew studies him for a moment, perhaps looking for nastiness in him despite his words proving otherwise, and when he couldn’t find any, he nods approvingly. “Well, you’re a brave man,” he compliments, moving back into his seat. “And you’re always gonna be welcome here.”

  
  


Bonnie believed the tensions in the room to be placated until she saw her father lean in toward John, eyes gone into slits. “But you tell your friends out East that we don’t wanna live like that ‘round here,” he says. “All that sneakin’ around, and spyin’, and secret missions; it’s preposterous.”

  
  


John looked little under Drew’s gaze. A terrifying bounty hunter getting scrutinized like that must’ve been humiliating in some way; Bonnie expected a reaction, but got nothing but a nod from John. “Trust me, sir,” he says. “I agree with you.”

  
  


That man was never short of surprises, and it got smiles out of both of the Macfarlanes. 

  
  


“Good,” the father says, and after a moment, he gets up. “Well! We won’t insult ya’ any further.” Then he’s walking out of the drawing room, telling Bonnie there were things to be done. That must’ve been his way of expressing his approval, for now at least. 

  
  


“Do you care to join us, Mr. Marston?” Bonnie turns to John, who follows her in her standing from the couch. “It’s daddy’s favorite pasttime, apart from political discourse.”

  
  


“What is?” John asks.

  
  


“Breakin’ in horses,” Drew answers from the foyer. “Come on. I hear you’re a decent rider, for a city dweller that is.”

  
  


The three of them shared a laugh, and together they walked out of the house and into hot air, where they would mount up and participate in a classic ranching activity. Something they all considered fun. 

  
  


It ended late into the afternoon, in Cholla Springs, where they had many fine horses all thanks to Bonnie’s expertise and John’s determination. She gifted him the stallion that tried to get away from the herd, which John successfully tethered, as a thank you for his work that day. Ultimately, he went one way and she went the other, alongside ranch hands she brought with her to Cholla Springs. 

  
  
  


Her father was present for the first half of the job, but not for the second, so she ended up meeting him at the stables, where the two of them plus a few hands stabled these new found horses. 

  
  


“These are fine animals, Bonnie,” Drew commented. 

  
  


“All thanks to Mr. Marston,” she smiles, though it slowly vanishes as it leads her to her next thought. Picking at a rock in the ground, she voices it in a whisper. “Um— what do you..”

  
  


She needn’t finish her thought. “I saw you and him together. If he wasn’t a married man, I’d say y’all make a fine couple.”

  
  


Bonnie went red. “Daddy—”

  
  


“Even so,” Drew continued. “I can tell he’s not a bad man. He’s got good intentions with ya’, and he won’t hurt ya’.”

  
  


Bonnie looks up at him. “So.. well, you’re okay with it?” she asks. “Because, hard as it is to admit, h—he’s a good man, and he makes me happy.”

  
  


Drew looks back at her, warmly. “I’m happy that you’re happy, I’m happy that he means to keep ya’ happy. I reckon that’s plenty of happiness to be goin’ on with.”

  
  


And with that, he gives her shoulder a loving pat, and takes his leave, back to the house. Bonnie is left to process his words, and to smile. Not only because her father wouldn’t disown her, but because she knew he was right. John did mean to keep her happy. Even if that wasn’t in a romantic way, she was happy to have been offered his friendship. 

  
  


As long as they weren’t enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback really do be slappin 👀


End file.
